We are all breathing again! The Bear has taken himself off for one of
his camping holidays, complete with painting outfit and half a dozen
scribbling pads. He is actually going to write a book!—telling people
how to live on nettles and toadstools and that sort of thing, and how in
case of another Great War we could support the entire nation on boiled
hedgehogs or some such nastiness. My dear, it is such a relief to get
him out of the house! Of course, he couldn’t go off without creating an
unpleasantness. He was absurd enough to suggest that Mrs. Harrison
should go with him—the idea of it! in a horrible little shack, _miles_
from anywhere—damp as a well, I shouldn’t wonder, with no proper water
or _sanitation_ or anything. Did you ever hear of such a thing?
Naturally, Mrs. Harrison said she didn’t think she would care about
it—what did the man expect? He didn’t say anything more about it
_then_—I think I’ve taught him not to bully his wife when I’m
about!—but he took it out of her when they went upstairs. She came in
crying at 12 o’clock at night to sleep with me because she couldn’t
stand it any longer. “My dear,” I said, “why do you take notice of it?
If he wants your company so badly, why can’t he sacrifice himself for
once and take you to Brighton or Margate, or some nice cheerful place?
He just likes to make people miserable, that’s all.” So then I told her
a little about what Dr. Trevor said about the people who enjoy
inflicting torture on others. I said, “You must just look on it as a
kind of disease and not resent it if you can help it. Build up a wall of
protective thought about yourself and determine to be quite detached
about it.” We had a very interesting little talk about repressions, and
I have lent her my handbook to Freud. It is so important to get a
healthy angle on these things.
Mr. Lathom has been very nice, coming in almost every evening to keep us
company. It must be a relief to him not to be bothered with the Bear’s
everlasting drivel about Art. He is going to paint our portraits. Mrs.
Harrison is going up for her first sitting to-morrow. It is to be a
blue, green and bronze colour-scheme—blue dress, green background and a
big bowl of those bronze Chrysanthemums. It gave Mr. Lathom a great deal
of trouble deciding it. Of course, Mrs. Harrison is very
attractive-looking, but you couldn’t exactly call her _pretty_, with
those greeny eyes and her rather pale complexion. I haven’t decided what
to wear. I asked Mr. Lathom, but he said he thought I should look nice
in anything and he could safely leave it to me. I think I shall have it
done in that orange thing with the square yoke—the one which Mr.
Ramsbottom said made me look like a Pre-Raphaelite page—you
remember?—and have my hair waved and curled under all round to carry
out the idea. I pointed out to Mr. Lathom that my face wasn’t the same
both sides, and he laughed, and said no human being ever was the same
both sides—Nature never worked by rule and compass.
I am doing well with my stockings, and have had several orders for
scarves. Don’t forget to tell anybody who wants one that I am quite
ready to undertake the work. I am experimenting on some calendars, made
like the old-fashioned tinsel pictures, with the coloured paper-wrappers
off chocolate creams. Some of the designs are simply beautiful. You
might send me any you get. I think I might get some Christmas orders for
them. I’ve thought out quite an original idea. . . .
* * * * *
[The remainder of this letter, which contained only some designs for
needlework, has been detached.]